Actually, I didn't see him coming either, but we almost collided into each other last week on a lonely predawn street corner. He was walking with great pace in the hunched manner of someone who neglected to bring their overcoat on a three-dog October morn. I had just picked up the Express and was trying to negotiate my mitten-ed hands toward the BlogLog in the hope I recognized a familiar site. (What's all this Butterstick rigmarole?)

I looked up in time to see him coming straight at me with his head down. I stiffly stepped aside and wished him a "Good Morning, John." He generically returned the salutation and we continued in opposite directions, waiting for the sun to rise in our private corners of the city.

Though, I'm surprised he didn't remember me from our last encounter. Several years back the G and I went to the Cherrydale Safeway for a late weekend Ben and Jerry's run and noticed a G-man and dark SUV in the parking lot. Ashcroft and his wife(?) were there after similar foodstuffs and we passed in the aisles.

The two non-Ashcrofts huddled trying to come up with a way to approach him. We decided to grab some Zimas and wine coolers and ask him to buy them because we didn't bring our IDs. "Hey Mister, can you get these for us? You can keep all the change. We'll meet you in the parking lot next to the Abandoned Shopping Trolley rack in like 10 minutes."

Alas, it took us about 10 minutes to come up with this scheme and get our ice cream, so by the time we got back from the booze section he was gone. We bought the wine coolers anyway and a delicious Bartles & Jaymes/Phish Food combination was born that night. We call it the Soaring Eagle.

My costume of kickassery went unfinished, but materials have been purchased, so you will see me next year. I will be the blonde in orange fur. I'm not even going to tell you what I went as this year, just kind of lame and last minute and tragic. The Nabob made a spectacular "Sean Penn Attempting To Rescue Hurricane Victims in A Leaky Boat, Wearing A Flak Jacket." Pics to follow. The flak jacket is real, and weighs 30 pounds. It's sitting in the living room, and may be the one thing the dog can't eat, although a valiant effort may be in doggy order. Kevlar breakfast snacks.

Friday, I drank some beer with a Killbot in an apartment furnished with Rocky IV posters, Van Gogh prints, and a creepy elfin Halloween statue who EYES MOVED. Also, I saw Feeney (Clockwork Orange guy), drunk and belligerent and currently living in Honduras. I had not seen Feeney since the spring of 2000, and he accosted me by the keg. It was simultabeously comforting and frightening. Also, there was a Killbot with claws for hands. Right, I mentioned that. Killbot.

Saturday, we visited a giant spooky house in a giant historical district that A & A are renting. It had chandeliers in every room. I'm in love with it's billion dollarness. Also, I met a guy who had just killed a porcupine with a hatchet in Vermont. You can't make this stuff up peeps, I wuz fascinated. He was dressed as Caesar.

Sunday, Marathon Madness! 30 billion strong! We were able to see a few people we knew, and yelled out stranger's names recklessly, but a lot of people we knew running were skinny white dudes close to 30? Hi, I have never seen so many skinny white dudes close to 30 in MY YOUNGIN LIFE. They were stampeding everywhere, and after watching mobs run for an hour straight, when you look away or off to the side, or at the sky, it looks like the landscaping is moving. Trippy.

What I did not do was go to this party. There were sexy skateboarding nurses! And Apes. Like Tom mentioned, I'm sure it was like being in Bizarro Cobrasnake; except that this Fight Club looked like more fun. Way to pull out the hip, DC.gov.

Other News:

- I make a lot (read: LOTS and LOTS) of fun of MySpace. Yes. Anyways, when you go to the songs:ohia webpage just to catch up or whatevs, J. Molina and his little web minions is directing you to download Magnolia Electric Co. songs from...... MySpace. Anyhooos, three tracks from the latest.

- My car was locked behind a gate with a guard dog all weekend, and I ordered new glasses to make me appear intelligent. And my new Converse hightops came to my house. Classics. They are grey and spectacular.

So, Tom is taking suggestions for a Halloween mix. Originally, I had mentioned Bauhaus' "Exquisite Corpse." Tom, are you listening? Scratch that. For years, I have been waiting for the dead to rise and angrily feast on the succulent brains of the living. I've been counting on such an event to occur on Halloween, natch. I'd be much happier to die that way than say, in a bus accident, or of a debilitating disease. Zombies, that's whats up. Anyways - I think I've found the song that will make the dead MOST angry, Tom. Perfect for a Halloween mix.

Here's a picture you would find if you were to spend your morning looking up "LLAMA" on google images:

I had nothing to do with Photoshopping this, it's just out there, like a gift from the internets. I love you, internets.

* * *

My officemates have recently complained that I have no personality or decor on my side of the room. Therefore, when I get home tonight, I'm planning on creating a collage of past Halloween costumes. Obviously, I feel this decor is appropriate year-round, and would be very impressive to clients. I'll make sure to share it with you. I had totally forgotten about my Margot Tenenbaum costume a few years ago. It was pretty spot-on.

Related, I have yet to actually start my Halloween costume for a party that is, err, tonight. And my costume is complicated, and I am a perfectionist. Crapdamnshit. Not boding well, mes amis. I suppose this means a potential Katie Holmes fall-back is in order. Sigh. Anyone have a copy of "Dianetics" I can borrow?

* * *

(Also of Note, File Under-Career: In between impromptu baby showers in the conference room and eleventy cups of sub-par coffee, the Governess and her coworkers have taken on the Seinfeldian trait of speaking in third person. The Governess realizes how annoying this is, and yet cannot stop. Also also, The Governess had the opportunity to use the term "fiery orbs of wrath" in a business email today.

The Governess is quite pleased with herself.)

* * *

Is there anything more obnoxious in the entire world than self-absorbed people who insist on ADVERTISING the fact that they are a Good Samaritan? K. and I submit not. Matter of fact, it's close to the top of my "Things I Hate" list.

1. Manheim Steamroller2. Pricks who send me emails about what great people they are because they raise money for charity all the time, and want, apparently, A COOKIE for their actions, instead of just DOING IT to feel good about themselves. (I know, I'm being mean. It's a learning process with people like this. Baby steps.)3. 60's claymation4. Natty Light

There's more to this list, but I'm feeling good because it's Friday, so I'll stop here. The Governess bids you a nice weekend! The Governess INSISTS on a nice weekend!

Thursday, October 27, 2005

I hope to never again in my lifetime go to a funeral where someone tells me "I'll be home again for Christmas, we should get together. I'll message you over MySpace." Also, they said this twice.

Blink. Blink blink.

2.

My car repairs may require me to sell platelets on the dark, sour streets. I'll never have nice things again. I'll be sure to keep you posted on my money-raking schemes. (PS: I'm an AB-, very rare, if you're in the market.)

3.

The Nabob is on hiatus. He is a very busy man. He has a BLACKBERRY, people. V. Important. Will return soon.

4.

I used to think that if you put America in a Bunsen burner and cooked it down to its most fundamental essence, that you would have Las Vegas. But now I think that really, you just get The Cheesecake Factory. The faux-fanciness, with all the insane "Italian" "frescos" + the strange faux-familiarity between the customers and the waiters + the planet-sized portions + the creepy classical music + the awesome clientele wearing their dress-up outfits (girls: fluttery skirts, strappy-strap heels, skin cancer; boys: shirts tucked in) and clutching their vibotron-table-alert beepers for hours upon hours as they eagerly await a table -- it's like an underground railroad beamed them in from some Los Angeles prom and dropped them off right there at the Factory gate + the name itself, which sounds like a euphemism for something bad that happens in your pants or womb + the fact that there are twenty-five different cheesecakes, which is beyond all sanity + a full bar = one soaring American eagle of a restaurant. -- Evany Thomas

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

1. I drank exactly one beer last night in Cleveland Park, you know, pouring half out for webdrama everywhere. I was cold, and sleepy, and full of tofu. I don't really drink anymore, and I'm uncomfortable with this realization. It's like I'm trying to re-start old addictions so people can look at me when I finally beat my inner demons and say things like "Wow, she must be a really strong person." Not succeeding with this plan.

2. In case anyone is interested: my birthday is early January, and I want the muscle tee.

3. Hey, another request, while I'm at it (it: being demanding and unconsolable. It's all this recent rain! And cold! I miss summer!) Please stopwith theexclamationpoints. Can we think of something else? Soon?

4. I'm just being cranky because the Fall got away from me and shit, I missed giant turkey legs and stepping on capes, yo. Last year, K. and I had a giant battle royale where we hit each other over the head with pillowcases in an attempt to knock each other off a log.

You know, that description does not do it justice.

5. Oh, and the fact that I'm going to another funeral tomorrow. I wasn't even going to mention it, but this year has gone from sublime to ridiculous, so at this point, tragedy is almost (almost) hilarious.

6. My car is broken, again. For those of you in the know/those of you who have picked me up on the side of the road, you will fondly recall I have broken down in shitty cars all over the Mid-Atlantic - (1994/Dodge/Gettysburg, PA. 1996/Mercury/South Of the Border, Richmond, New Bern NC, and Myrtle Beach. 1997/Volvo v1.0/Route 7/Sterling, resulting in terrifying crash and court appearances. 1998-2001/Volvo v2.0/the Shenandoah Valley, every single DC suburb you can imagine, Arlington at least 10+ times.) I actually broke down in Volvo v2.0 twice on 66, and the SAME VDOT EMERGENCY HELP GUY stopped both times. I am the only lass who knew a VDOT guy by name simply because of her car. Volvo v2.0 --> donkey balls. Anyways, about 4 or 5 years ago I bought a Honda, and things have been relatively quiet since then, all suburban and completely uninspired and beige and Honda-y, but quiet. Good, even. However, the car is 8 years old and is going through a midlife/late life crisis.

I am telling you all this because parallel to my incredibly shitty luck with used cars, I had decent luck with dudes. One in particular. He came into my scary little life about the same time as Volvo v1.0. Our first date was in September of 1997, and I won't even go into what we did that night except to say there was a movie involved and it was "In & Out." Okay, there, I said it. I'll also tell you we went to Ruby Tuesdays for dinner.

I appreciate the fact that even though I had terrible bangs and wore overalls (um. I once owned velvet overalls, fr realsies. DRESS overalls.), I think he thought I was cute, in a manic-bunny-trapped-in-a-corner kind of way. 8 years later, I am deliriously happy to have him in my life. He is a terrific spouse, handsome as the dickens, intelligent and creative and terrifyingly clever. He is funnier than any person I've ever met, and he is employed and athletic. He can probably cure cancer, if he would just focus. As an adult, he never suggests Ruby Tuesdays as a viable dining option.

But perhaps most importantly, he brings to this relationship a car. A. WORKING. AUTOMOBILE. That he lets me drive when my car may implode. This is v. important, especially on cold windy days when not only does the gas line, like, fall out of my car? As he's driving to work? But then the car also gets a flat.

So, thanks, guy. I'm sorry I'm so incompetent that you are forced to drive my moving (barely) death trap.

I'm also sorry, kind of, that I don't really cook, clean, or take good care of the dog. And fish. Who sometimes I forget we own. Really, why you have not fled for a fishing boat in the Caribbean yet, I'm not certain.

UPDATE: I'm having an IM conversation w/ K. right now- do you think if your name is "Evangeline" you are destined to be a total goddess? I mean, I've known two other Evangeline's in my life, one of whom was a grandma (rest in peace, she may have been a handsome woman in her day, but I'll never know) and the other of whom was a drama major, big into D&D and talking to herself, as I recall. Maybe it's the last name "Lilly." That can't be her real name, dude. Five dollars says she was born Jen Smith. And I bet she's nice. Bitch.

I love Halloween. I love it love it love it, love it so much. I am giddy with Halloween, and really Halloween, I thank you, because you are the reason I am proud to be an American. Halloween is a more appropriate time to play obnoxious country music really loud and be fat and wear fanny packs and shoot off fireworks and be STEREOTYPICAL IGNANT AMERICANS than fourth of July, because it's Halloween, dammit.

People, this costume thing. It's going to be just so huge and retarded.

Top three Halloweens yr girl can remember:

1. Michelle* stayed the night and we had a sleepover and we dressed like hobos and we were just old enough to have serious trick and treat STAMINA. I had a toilet plunger handle with a bandana on the end, and Michelle had a fake frog in the pocket of her dad's flannel shirt. Also, I wore rolled up jeans and converse high-tops (pink), which really should be my uniform to this day. Except not pink. Also, what kind of parents think "hey, it's cool" when their little girls dress like homeless people? My kind of parents, apparently.

I think this was third grade, and I had the biggest candy score of my young life that year.

* I was in a wedding with Michelle about two years ago, it weirdly happened on accident after not having seen the girl since 1996? And we both wore long, crazy silver dresses and we're cool now, even though she ended up beating me in the fifth grade spelling bee and it took me a while to get over that. Also, she has Chinese symbols tattooed all over the back of her neck, and call it a hunch that maybe they don't mean "peace" and shit.

2. The year I made the most fantastic Bjork swan dress of all time, and was a total hit here there and everywhere, except for one dumb party full of Duke alums where a drunk girl in a beehive wig stumbled up to me and said "I get it! You're a bird woman!" Right.

3. Okay, really there are only two good ones.

- - -

We had a little party on Saturday night, sorry I didn't invite you, internets, but you know. Computers weird me out. Holy shit, never a good idea, BTW, the not-eat-anything-but-a-handful-of-trail-mix-with-the-M&Ms-picked-out-for-consumption-and-a-fingerful-or-two-of-hummus accidental Hollywood diet plan, and then drinking an entire bottle of wine, by yourself, by 9:30 PM. Reiteration: not a good idea. Hi, coworkers I think I scared! Hi ex-roommate from 1999 who I haven't seen in a year and is also scared! I may or may not have led a nonsensical conversation about monkeys, and introduced people to each other over and over again. Also, our neighbors probably officially hate our guts. And our kitchen is a goddman natural disaster. And we drank all the alcohol in world. Sorry world.

And yesterday I wore sweatpants all day.

Besides drunk me and the fact that I make only the choicest guacamole ever, the best part of Sat. night was that people left as sacrifices to the God of Party several bottles of wine. Okay, no, that was good, but not the best. THE BEST: Someone brought us the NRA WILD GAME COOKBOOK, which is a thousand different kinds of rad. Curried squirrel pot pie and pilaf, anyone? Because I'm yr hostess.

- - -

Oh, in other not fascinating news: our dog ate catfood and has taken to burping catfood breath in my face.

Wednesday, October 19, 2005

More Halloween ideas, this time brough to you by the City Paper and Night Dreams or some such place...

Way hotter than any Wiccans I know.J Edgar Hooter.(Insert lumber joke here.)

Can't say that I've ever had anything close to an amatory thought anywhere near a Home Depot, much less being attracted to anyone wearing an orange smock.

In fact, our local Home Depot is particularly unsexy*. When I was there last week, I saw at least a dozen birds chillin' in the bird seed aisle, chompin away at an split bag. Big ones too, like starlings and pigeons. I could also hear the sparrows in the rafters above, just waiting to poop all their bird flu grossness everywhere.

Bird flu! BIIIIIIRRRRRDDD FLLLLLUUUUU!

Now I know birds are in just about any of the big box hardware stores, but there were a ton hanging out. And they didn't fly away when I walked by. They just gave an annoyed whooo and begrudgingly stepped aside.

I emailed Home Depot when I got home, attempting a combination of witty and annoying.

Is there an official Home Depot policy about how many birds are permitted into a store at once? I understand the difficulty on keeping them out, but is there a point when there is one bird too many?

To tell the truth, I hoped they would not respond because I'd prefer them to be a cold, faceless company. And it would be funnier if it was just a one-sided conversation. But to be fair, they wrote back...

We continue to consider methods for preventing birds from entering our stores; however, despite our reasonable efforts, on occasion birds find their way in. For the well-being and safety of our customers and associates, our policy is to contact a licensed pest control agency to remove the birds. The pest control agencies remove the birds in accordance with state Department of Environmental Protection or Natural Resources guidelines and regulations, many of which require the destruction of animals that if reintroduced to nature could be harmful.

We regret any harm that comes to birds in our stores; however, the health and safety of our customers and associates must always remain our primary concern.

Please continue to visit us at homedepot.com for information on all of your home improvement needs!

Sincerely,

Non-Robotic response Lady

There you have it. They don't shoo them out and lock the door, they kill them by somebureaucratic guideline. Do you think they sell that sexy costume with a gas mask and poisonous bird seed?

* Other reasons why I find that specific Home Depot to be uncomfortable.

1. CS - He's a guy from a rival high school who works in the garden department. We went head to head for four years on the football field and, for a while, he dated a friend of mine. CS reminds me of that guy in Grosse Point Blank who asks Cusack if he wants to do blow and then starts crying and reads poetry. But he's still an okay guy.** I saw him when I was trying to buy mulch and he went on and on about HS, his wife and his second wife, people we knew, his kids, et al. But, he volunteered, there were going to be no more youngens because he was getting his tubes tied. Then he made a little "tying shoelaces" motion near his bellybutton. I asked if he meant his wife was having her tubes tied but he said was going to be him. I wished him luck in the curiously feminine procedure for a 25 year old man and have opted to only travel into the garden section after making sure he's not working.

2. The sniper killing. Both the G and my dad were at that store that day. In fact, the murder occurred between the time he left the parking lot and when he got home and turned on the news. The G, D, and Nabob were all at the Wilco/Boas show that night and missed several frantic phone calls from family who thought the G was still there. It weirds me out that people park their cars on the spot where that woman died.

** Some of my other friends may disagree with this statement for CS briefly worked as a bouncer at the now quondam Odds on 20th St (the one that's now the pharmacy/photo lab of a CVS.) He confiscated my mates fake IDs though he was only a few months older than us. Not mine, though, that sucker fooled cops and has its own wing in the fake ID hall of fame. CS was #1 and my friend's "punk list."

In other v. important news, apparently there is some sort of deodorant contest going on where, if you Photoshop inspirational crap on your office PC and submit the results, and win, you become a high-level deodorant marketing executive and also, you get to meet a girl who went to my high school. (!!!) (Note: she probably won't talk about me.) Rumor has it (from my younger brother) that she has curly hair. That is all I know about this girl, who is 470 years younger than me, and a WB star.

A WB star! With curly hair! What does this have to do with deodorant!

Now listen, I don't know about you, Deodorant Makers, but if you were going to hold a bizarro little contest such as this and have the prize be meeting someone from my crappy hometown, which isn't even technically a TOWN, really, I am more than willing to shake a few hands. Or, howsabout AllenPinkett? (Currently an insurance salesman for Hartford Life? Awww.)

Patton Oswalt? (Who lovingly refers to this little nook of NoVa as "Zombie Town," and who also has a dog named Grumpus.)

And, I'm out. Count it, four people. Two of which have "made it big" (WB. WB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) in the past 5-10 years. It is time for someone to PUT US ON THE MAP, dammit. So let's start some significant breeding, oh ye community watch association presidents of Forest Glen Grove, Spring Rush Farms, Bellehaven Deer Meadow. You are the ideal stage moms and dads. We need fame! We need celebrity appeal! Do it for community pride. Do it for the children, who desparately need a famous ex-resident to brag about ("close to the airport" isn't really cutting it as a town selling point, and doesn't look good on a banner in the Jaycee's parade.) Do it for the community newspaper, which is a terrifying publication. I have faith in them - they just need something to jot about besides Del. Dick "Baby-Pesticides Library-Censorship" Black (MY PRSNL HEROOO!) and slow growth hippies. And nothing says "relevant news publication" like a suburban R. Leiby.

* * *

In most important news of all, our dog is a total class suck-up. And I'm going to bed at like, 8:30 pm tonight. Don't you even try and stop me. My weekend is all chock full of fucking partying here there and everywhere, and I need to rest up, eat some Power Bars, listen to some Mase (pre-preacher career); you know, to prep myself.

While the G was dorking it up this past weekend, I participated in the footballest two days of all time. It's Octobery enough to wear a long sleeve t-shirt when you play but not so cold the ball hurts your hands. Perfect.

Let's touch...

1. The USC-ND-PSU-M-MN-Wisc finishes, AWESOMO!. To a lesser extent, the FSU-UVA game. Great game and all, but I could have done less with the power outages and production delays. Worst player on the field for the Cav's based on play: Deyon Williams. Best player on the field based on birth certificate: D'Brickashaw Ferguson. Worst fans on the field based on ability to trample classmates and inability to remove goal posts: Wahoos. I don't care if they did put in some of those new fangledindestructible goal posts. Bet those engineer humps down at the Polytechnic Institute could have figured a way to bring 'em down. Best throw of the day: the Nabob.

It may have taken several thousand tries, but I eventually threw a football 35 yards into that trashcan. And I won $25 for my efforts from the other tailgaters who tried. Am I bragging? Yes. But a former, to remain un-named, FSU quarterback who also happened to be playing along failed like Warrick Dunn trying to cross the goal line in '95.

2. I'll always be a fan, but I realized yesterday that my passion for the Redskins has dwindled to null set. My first grounding came when my parents overheard me cursing a touchdown against the 'Skins years ago as a wee N'bob. There's a patch of turf that I ripped from the field after the last game at RFK growing in those same parents' back yard. One of our largest arguments came after I refused to go house shopping with the G on Sundays between 1 and 4. But yesterday there was nothing. The KC game was not the Event, just one of three games on Sunday afternoon. Thanks, Danny.

2b. Is this true? Oh, LaVar. Though, it did make me notice that my credit card contains three sequential 6s this morning. YOU LOSE WAMU! I don't care how long your pledge drive goes on. You don't want my cursed money and I don't want your crappy travel mug.

3. On my way to a flag football game on Sunday I got a $25 ticket for an illegal right turn. So long former FSU QB money. I also chastised my friends for lacking the discipline to successfully play a zone defense. I then promptly attempted to return 4th down interception out of the end zone, instead on knocking it down. I was tackled on the one and the bad field position haunted us throughout the rest of the game. Come on, Nabob, fundamentals. I suck.

Monday, October 17, 2005

(Alright alright alright... who wants to play on my volleyball team in Springfield/Alexandria area? Fierce net intimidator, "Shaq Look-a-like," is leaving, so my winter team sucks. We need some extra talent. People, hit me up. It's only $50 for healthy Thursday night entertainment. Your liver will thank you. If you're any good, I will thank you. Seriously, it's going to be such a frustrating winter if I don't recruit some skillaz.)

Seriously, I can't stop watching "Firefly". That's all I did Friday night, working my way through every episode. I'm singing the ol' West theme song under my breath, I'm wearing dirty clothes to work. All other activities have pretty much ceased. If you need me, I'll be in the basement in my pajamas.

* * *

KL: The Runner That Reads, sweat her way into my heart this weekend after running 13 miles in the sun, eating flavorless gel to power up, looking a little peaked, and after only one bottle of water and one banana, GOING OUT DRINKING WITH US LAZYKINS WITH NO REGARDS, even requesting "Wherever, Whenever" by Shakira at Nelvin's karaoke. Nevin's. Nesbitt's. Something, whatever. Alas, after several B'more bars, the wait for the song that never materialized and a particular drunk girl dedicated to role-playing Karaoke Em-Cee, we decided to go with greasy pizza instead and then sleep. Oh, sweet sleep in Baltimore. I miss your street sounds. I vow to visit more often.

The wait for Shakira's "Whenever, Wherever" proved that this song's title is a total misnomer. -- KL

Anywayshoos, a picture. It's a re-enactment. We're not wearing shoes. La Bella Mafia drew the stick figure with one leg longer than the other, to "signify motion."

Our signs have glitter. Dear Baltimore Sun, you did not mention the fact that THE SIGNS HAD GLITTER. Also, I am mad we missed the gummy bear guy.

* * *

On Sunday, I museumed, lucky enough to have a prtnr-n-crime who pointed out MONSTERS in the illuminated manuscripts. If you're into staring at old books with gold leaf, and picking out the secret monster drawings, and listening to some cheesy-ass soundtracking (well done, National Gallery), the NGA is your new hang. Also/more importantly, we saw the Orsanmichele exhibit, which wasn't too crowded for a Sunday and is only three pieces, so if you have 30 minutes to kill, you should head over. Get a latte, read the paper. Etc.

* * *

In other news, I'm taking my dog to the vet this afternoon since he can't stop shitting. Poor shitting dog. Perhaps he ate a bird.

Since I'm so boring, go read this. Vampires? Man. I thought it was cool when S. and I would put on camo face paint, sneak out to Tim whats-his-names house in the country, and spy on him and his new girlfriend through their basement windows. Nowadays, I think it's called "stalking." My 17th year is soundtracked by "Vauxhall & I."

Friday, October 14, 2005

1. "I woke up in a Judy Blume novel this morning, so I can't make it in to work today. Sorry." -- LJG

2. REGARDING WHAT EVERYONE IS BUZZING ABOUT, MY THEORY: Let's get ultra uber meta on yr ass: JT Leroy does in fact, exist, but is presenting himself as someone who doesn't exist, who is simply acting the part of a false, separate, JT Leroy. You can mirror-bounce this theory 1000 times around. Is/is not/is/is not. Man, I love the SCENES! Either way, JT or no JT, I am done already with the Bastard out of Carolina-stylee nonfiction/fiction. I think I'll write my memoirs. They will be all about a girl in the suburbs with schoolteacher parents who skips curfew and drinks Beast out behind the Price Club, wears a letter jacket unironically, and makes the damn honor roll. Nothing much happens, this will be he genius of it. No whoring at truck stops, no Mommy Dearest teen mom, no pimps. My memoirs will be an instant hit, and then I will get to party with Wino Forever, too. If it makes you feel better, I will wear a Loni Anderson wig.

3. I head up to The City That Reads tomorrow to cheer on this batshit friend of mine. I was originally thinking about setting up a coffee cake stand! Water stands abound, would you not be in the mood for some sort of tasty snack? While running such a long ways? But that's not really practical I suppose, and most runners are "into basic health." This is something I choose not to participate in, but I can at least begrudgingly accept other people's lifestyles.

Maybe. Look for me to be hauled away by Bmore police after finally snapping, tackling some poor wiry soul into a bush and forcing Jameson down their throat before lighting a cigarette and shoving it in their piehole.

5. I played the worst game of volleyball in MY ENTIRE LIFE last night, just played like a total jackass and didn't pay attention/head in clouds and ARRRGGGH. So. Frustrated. With. Myself. This is why you should not play sports with me, this is why Trivial Pursuit games have ended with a frigid bed and my back turned on my husband. This is why I refuse to learn to play poker. Competition is not my friend. I am a nightmare.

But this is the good thing, see - my season is over until spring! PEOPLE. I AM FREE AGAIN TO RAISE SOME HELL ON THURSDAY NIGHTS. Very important news okay.

6. Did anyone else think this was the most convoluted headline ever? I had to read it three times just to try and noodle what the article was actually about, and even then. The tress were lost? And then someone became mad? And they were a foe of growth? The trees growth? Wha? Am I just stupid, or is this too difficult? I might just be too stupid.

7. I have very little work to do today, so I might spend a few hours googling Sean Suhl. Do you know who you were actually paying when you signed up for Suicide Girls pr0n? I bet a lot of you didn't. So much for female empowerment.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

Alan Shemper: When I was at camp, my favorite activity was always arts and crafts. Or, as we used to call it: arts and *farts* and crafts. We used to make drawings... cave drawings! Which is my way of saying we were cave men. I went to camp so long ago, that I can remember saying "sticks and stones may break my bones" and meaning it! I went to camp so long ago that fucking Jesus Christ was my counselor! And my best friend hadn't fully evolved yet! His name was Ug and he walked on all fours! There were two epidemics when I went to camp: head lice, and the plague - the Bubonic plague!

I was almost late to work this morning because Wet Hot American Summer was on Comeday Central. I'd like to see how many times I can mention how great this movie is in my blog.

1. My dog has the runs2. All over my house3. I was tired, and therefore missed all details from last night's talky-box program, except for the fact that SCREW YOU CLAIRE. Will someone please for the love of god, write a show where the recently un-pregnant woman LOOKS like she actually gave birth? You can do miracles with padding, or so I've heard.

there's your update. Oh yeah, and I'm eleventy years late to the party on this, but what the hell anyways. Seagal spent many years researching this, and found that there are specific remedies for each reason for fatigue!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!111

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

This got me thinking about this. My hope was that Mr. Dash was just hanging around the ol' Roc-a-Fella offices with his shirt off. But I think 1411 Broadway is in the fashion district so he was probably just getting fitted for a boring new shirt. Avast.

I guess Arthur Kremmer*'s "deal" is that he's the buff Shirtless Drummer* of Stellastarr*.

It being October et al and me being childish et al, I got to thinking that going as a shirtless rock drummer for Halloween would be a good idear. I could certainly find a shirt not to wear and I have those old drumsticks that George Clinton's time keeper threw out into the crowd a few years back. However, I feel Kremmer*'s look is too generic. And with my red-braided hair I might get confused for Obelix.

First, Iggy's too obvious and I'm not willing to donate the required amount of blood to maintain the look during a night of Kit-Kat and beer. Secondly, it needs to be someone with a little classic-ness to 'em. So no Brandon Boyds.

1. Fred-MerI've got the mustache left over from my Borat costume and tight white jeans are 10 for a dollar at the Salvation army. But while there are plenty of people who recognize Freddy and Brian May for their genius, there will be enough wankers out there who can't get past the whole homosexual bit. Which, by the way, I have yet to see any proof of.

2. Bon ScottIs everyone else starring at the same part of this picture as me? Where am I going to get something that big and perfectly formed? Look at that hair. Gorgeous.

Just like this AC/DC lead vocalists, pants aren't made like that anymore. It's the first time I've seen a pair of jeans and understood where that dumb cat whisker fading comes from, the kind that's popular amongst the young kids and their laps. Imagine the shock of the 4 year old girl dressed as Dora da Explora who comes to my house....

There is no way to subtly insinuate this joke without sounding disgustingly perverted. I've written it several different ways and they would all land me in blog prison.

3. Lux InteriorA long time ago, before most of you were born, Lux and the Cramps played at a place called the LBJ Club here in DC. The LBJ may have been an ethnic (Korean? it was a while back) restaurant during the day but it doubled as a punk/psychobilly joint once the sun went down. Before the Cramps went on, Tex Rubinowitz, from Tex and the Bad Boys, knocked out all the ceiling tiles, as was the fashion at the time. When Lux got on stage, he started pulling down all the electrical wires above his head and causing general mayhem. It was an amazing punk performance, the likes of which DC never sees anymore. I don't know for sure, but it may have been the first and only weekend of music at the LBJ. Many dives just like it quickly came and went in the late 70's and 80's.

A costume of leopard skin briefs would be my tribute to their memory.

4. Artimus Pyle

We have a winner.

Pyle was considered the craziest of the crazies in Lynyrd Skynyrd. That's enough for me. But just look at that outfit, all things I already own. Headband, check. Knee-high white socks, check. Jeans cut off so high that the white pockets hang out, check. I got the Halloween party Evite today. My soccer team's not going to know what hit ‘em.

If you are not reading DCeiver like it's your new religion every Wednesday and Thursday to know all about LOST and how good LOST is and read his funny funny takes on LOST and then agree with him on everything he says about LOST, then you might have a plate in your head or something. Not that there's anything wrong with that, I'm just saying - you should probably be reading it.

I've wondered the same thing myself, actually. Mostly becuse the guy in the picture looks EXACTLY like one of the Decker brothers who I went to high school with. Which brother? Doesn't really matter, they all had that same County Seat sweater.

- - -

So, my Tuesday night was relatively excellent (AND educational!- "Hey, LJG, who are the people that like to have sex with mascots again?") I talked some smack with my rich friend Steph, compared men to types of cheese, and several Harp/lbs. of edamame were consumed, so now I've got that rumbling soy sauce/bloaty alcohol stomach.*

Listen - so do you think it's a reasonable idea to start an Oprah- Angel Network type thing for pass-agressive dudes who need guidance from a strong female someone to boss them around in order to get anything done???... nevermind. We'll just say this: Hot LJG and I, we have this business idea, see. We're captains of charitable ventures. Barbacks, bassists, natch. Law students need not apply. We are the mom-type you need, and get the tax benefits from IRSing ourselves as a non-profit. Now stand up straight, wash your goddamned hair for a change, get a real job, and stop hooking up with 21 year olds. You heard me. We're bossing you around for your own good.

Okay, the above explanation makes no sense, I know, but if you saw our diagrammed flowcharts on cocktail napkins from last night you'd be all over this idea. Send funding, stat.

In other news, I'm incoherent. I apologize.

- - -

DOG UPDATE, NOT RAD EDITION:

What is not rad is going home for a quick lunch, to let the dog outside to poo and stuff, and to come into my house, and gawk, and to have my living room raise a bloody triumphant fist in victory as if to say "hey, look! I've just been through Dogeggedon, and I SURVIVED!" "Eye of the Tiger" was playing from the stereo.

Apparently, Angelic Brown Dog has been a quick study from Satanic Black Dog, and decided to go all "No-day-but-today-'Rent'-stylee" on my house this morning. The nice, new window treaments that were suffering from the earlier Black Dog Charlie Company Battle Royale are now officially dead; dirty, shredded, eaten, slashed to the point of no return. This fish is going to cost us thousands in pscychotherapy, by the time I walked in the front door he was exhibiting classic signs of PTSD.

Brown Dog has never before participated in a freak-out of this nature, usually his free time is spent napping, dreaming of squirrels and rawhide treats. So I'm going to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume someone was trying to break into our house through that accidental open window**, and my dog saved the day, and now he deserves a cape.

*This is how my girls roll. We are sans-NSO tix or whathav of the peeps pooing their horizontal pants, hanging on for dear life at the last rung of the social ladder- ladders, BTW, are hard to climb when actually made of rope (burning rope!), swinging from the bottom of the rescue helicopter that is the Internet. My girls, they roll much harder.

In case you haven't caught on, I'm really into not making any sense today.

** Open because our air conditioning is dead. You would think this wouldn't be an issue in OCTOBER, but alas.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

Lots of nothing to talk about re: the weekend. It was cold, rainy, and I consumed more cholesterol than i though possible; also, a steak. There were Amish girls riding bikes in the cold rain with no tights or legwarmers to protect their skinny limbs, we spent our inheritence on Reisling, I met a substitute teacher who worked in a winery and I thought to myself how eaasily I could do that.

You might also find it interesting that I read a book about border collies who live on a farm and WORK and now I think my dog is nothing but a lazy, unemployed hunk of fur who sleeps all day and eats our gum, similar to several of my roommates circa 1999-2001.

Tonight, I will either go visit my BBFFFFF, bored in the hospital with her two year old who has a sinus-thing. Or, I'll go drink at a bar with friends, something I feel I haven't done since the Clinton administration. Maybe both.

Friday, October 07, 2005

2. I admit, I am reveling in all this internet speculation re: "Lost" and Joyce's Jame's The Turn of the Screw.

For those that Know-Know me instead of Web-Know me, the connectionz is even funnier than one might think.

OH, THE TURN!

3. Have a lovely extended weekend. Me, myself, and my kin are heading northward in a 15-PERSON PASSENGER VAN, (someone [me] has neglected to tell my father about gas prices/crises) all the better to get drunk and coast the hills of upstate NY in. OMGWTFnstuff, the photos to follow. Baby brother has tuned his guitar for several hundred rounds of "Who stole the cookie from the cookie jar?", and it's my turn to assign safety buddies.

This is going to be one fucked-up field trip, my friends.

Anyways, more on this and that come Tuesday. Plus, the Mensa test. I mailed away for it today.

Thursday, October 06, 2005

It's been a weird Phair-centric day. One, I heard that terrifying cotton-candy single on the radio on my way back from lunch (GREATEST HITS OF THE 80s, 90s, TODAY, AND EVERY DAY YOU FORGET YOUR IPOD, STUPIDHEAD), stuck in "OMG-It's-Drizzling-Panic!-Traffic" that plagues the Beltway on rainy weekdays, noonish.

My lack of participating in anything vaguely social over the past two weeks has, not surprisingly, resulted in a CODE RED/SEVERE downturn of blog-worthy material.

So here is an old story for you. You know it's bad when I am resurrecting stories that happened in the late 90s:

I took a drafting class in college, because I liked the professor and had a few credits to waste. The class was populated with a bunch of morons who I couldn't stand, and another girl named Sheri. Sheri and I were, at first, very unsure of each other- maybe even disliked each other. Soon that mutual distrust flowered into Senior Year Friend-Love, mostly because we maintained similar poor attitudes, and our preferred method of time passage was wearing sunglasses indoors and making fun of our classmates. We were graduating, the rest of those protractor-wielding little moppets were underclassmen and therefore still somewhat motivated. (Sidenote: That's it, it's Real World Closet Confessional Time: I miss Sheri, dammit. She was a fun girl. Also, i have pictures of us completely housed together at an unknown restaurant in the Shenandoah Valley. So if you live in Nashville and happen to know a girl named SHERI COYER who is probably still waiting tables with a large african-american woman named Glenice she used to email me stories about, tell her to find me please. Another detail: she's a redhead and bums smokes unapologetically. That might help you to track her down.)

Sheri doesn't really have anything to do with this story, I just have nice little nostalgic flashbacks about Sheri when I drink whiskey, and because she was with me when I heard the following. Neither here nor there.

One of the Morons threw a party on the third floor of an apartment building, those student kind of complexes we all lived in that was built with plywood, pipe cleaners, playdough, scotch tape, and coat hangers. Death traps. A College Housing Diorama built by a second grader as a book report, if you will. Anyways, this party was on the third floor, they had a few kegs, and a lot of peeps were over at the pad, yo. Yada yada. Suddenly, the lights go out. (and when I say lights, I mean the shitty disco things and the Christmas lights that I'm sure were strung through the living room.) The stereo cuts off. OH NO NO MORE PUFFY! There is a mild panic, there is no electricity in the apartment, and that means Johnny Fratboy v1.0 cannot see clearly enough to hone in on his next blonde coed target (Mission: Ass Grope.)

Suddenly, in midst of the chaos, three guys rush to the balcony and hoist the 2 kegs over the edge. The kegs fall, landing next to a WAITING PICKUP TRUCK. The kegs are loaded by accomplices as the thieves rush downstairs and join the getaway truck.

In the middle of a packed party, some geniuses robbed two kegs. In a matter of seconds.

What makes this story truly great are two small details.

1. These guys cut the electricity to the entire building to accomplish the stealing of kegs.

2. This was a birthday party, and as he was running out the door, one of the guys stopped to take a piece of cake off the table.

Granted- the beer would most likely be all sorts of fucked up from being dropped three floors. But really, does that matter?

2. Technorati Junction, whats yr Function: Just 3 blogs this morning mentioning an an old high school pal, COUNTLESS mentioning the Triumvirate of Armgeddon: the Simpson-Lachey breakup, the Spears-Fed Video, and the Katie H's impregnantion by demon theton spawn. God bless America: killer of Kennedy, maker of snap bracelets.

(Have I used that snap bracelet reference before? I tend to use it a lot, and it's usually only funny to me. Sigh.)

3. Do you remember that time the Hardy Boyz starred on "Fear Factor?"

4. I wasn't going to mention this until after I actually went through with it, but K. and I are going to take the Mensa test. I'm mostly doing it for blog fodder, but don't think I won't rub it in my family's face should something miraculously come of this. Prepare to see a photo essay or something on the process shortly.

5. I have made a decision; i can never see another stupid comment backnforth about NoVa. Ever. Again. it might kill me. You think i'm joking but i'm not. please don't do this to me. I WILL DIE OF SOMETHING (boredom? apathy? Neither of those are quite what I'm looking for) and you don't really want me to die.

6. Pandiculation (Noun) - Pronunciation: [pæn-di-kyê-'ley-shun]Definition 1: Stretching the body and extremities when drowsy or tired, usually accompanied by yawning, especially when going to bed or waking.

I won't lie- I straight up googled B.F. Skinner during the commercial break (the Nabob could remember "him having something to do with a baby? in a box?") but I needed more, and I skipped most of Prof. Butler's Psych 101. Also, I always got skinner confused with Pavlov for some reason. Skinner, pigeons; Pavlov, puppies.

Who wants to complain about the look of the new nickel? Who wants to complain about the cost of developing an new one every year? Who wants to complain about more connections between the US Mint and the Masons?

Not me. There are Halloween costumes that need designing.

I'm not going to be able to spend these things. I'll just stand in front of the vending machine trying to avoid TJ's disappointing glare.

"I know! The whole tree-liberty/blood-tyrants thing! I voted 6 years ago, that's not good enough for you anymore? Your agrarian ideals are unreasonable for my lifestyle! Stop staring at me!"

I once had a woodpecker in my fireplace. In the process of removing the bird (bird! nemesis! sqwaking, vitriolic attacker! birds! so vile!) by cornering him into a bedsheet, he escaped from our linen trap, got into the kitchen, wrecked some havoc here and there, and then eventually succomed to a soup-pot-wielding Nabob. We freed the bird to his natural habitat, North Arlington; thought I was pretty convinced that his "natural habitat" was now my chimney, so I'd see him again soon. Alas, he never returned, too scarred by his time in the pot, or maybe just in the dirtiest kitchen in the Commonwealth. I was so disgusted by the germiness of it all that I was tempted to throw bleach over every surface, which needed to be done anyway. Or maybe gasoline, and a well-placed match, and just be done with it all.

The end.

(P.S. there is currently a dead pigeon on the sidewalk down the street from my house. The dog wants it to come to life so he can play with it. It looks like a cartoon dead bird, I even think he has X's for eyes. The bird flu is upon us, people. Run for your lives.)

Longer version:

Several moons ago, I lived in a house that truely defied description. To this day, I am amazed no neighbor ever actually committed arson, so damaging was this structure to their property values. The rent was unfathomable for the neighborhood, so us 4 or 5 inhabitants (+ whoever was currently homeless and squatting on a couch: my med school friend Lauren, displaced Baltimoron K., a rugby team from Connecticut) put up with just about anything you can nightmare of.

Quicky sample of the rogue collective:

- One roommate collected Disney movies and empty McDonalds bags. Mostly harmless, somewhat digusting. Only wore purple, probably collected Care Bears. Talked to her boyfriend in baby voices. Was in her 30s, looked like she was 14, complete with 14-year old case of acne. Sometimes forgot to wear pants.

In retrospect, I kind of liked her the best.

- The other roommate was a paranoid ESL teacher, also in her 30s. She was completely obsessed with the Brazilian culture, and had a deadbolt on her room. She wore a bathrobe all hours of the day, would get upset when I wouldn't spend much time at home, and purchased a mini cactus to put on top of our TV set to "absorb harmful waves." She used to leave elaborate voicemails on my cell phone about please using non-bleach organic cleaning products in the bathroom. She moved out shortly after I moved in, but before leaving, she held an impromptu yard sale where she tried to sell furniture in the house that did not belong to her. I have a feeling she probably slept in a hat made of tinfoil. After drove off into the wild crazy blue yonder, the D. moved in.

- This leads me to Laverne and her boyfriend, who lived in the basement. The boyfriend spent a lot of time drinking in the bed of his truck and hitting Laverne. Eventually, he moved out. She lost her job at Jiffy Lube, spiraling into despair. She got a dog. The dog had puppies, so the household expanded to Laverne, several thousand puppies, and a dog that wouldn't stop barking... all living in the basement. She eventually gave away the puppies, and drunkenly totaled her Ford pickup. One evening, a friend of hers came over to express his concern (Concern: "AIN'T SEEN LAVERNE ALL WEEK, SHE DONE DID SOMETHING!" Luckily, I speak fluent Bearded Mountain Hermit) that she wasn't opening her door or answering her phone and he was afraid she had killed herself and the dog. So he came inside the house, took out door that lead to the basement off the hinges, only to discover she wasn't there. The D. and I stood there and watched. Our jaws would have been on the floor, but the floor was too nasty to touch like that. I was pretty broke then, but if there had been a dead body in my basement, that might have been the last straw. Maybe.

Eventually L to the V moved out, never to be heard from again. This was after stealing a neighbors TV set and also leaving a stolen car in our front yard. When we went downstairs, we realized the dog had been kept locked in a closet, thus all the noise. Also, she was racist.

(SIDENOTE: All three of these ladies apparently were better still than the roommate whose PLACE I TOOK, who ended up at Northern Virginia Mental Health Institute after she was found wandering down the street partially clothed and speaking in tongues. The police came to interview Disney and Brazilian, her dad came by to pick up her furniture, and that was the end of that.)

(Okay, this is becoming longer than planned.)

The house itself was a monstrosity. A potentially adorable Cape Cod, both the back and front porch were falling off the structure. The foundation sported holes the size of baby water buffalo. The den ceiling, water-damaged to a dangerous point, was ignored for years and constantly on the verge of collapse. I'd often spring from the sofa when I heard someone upstairs turn the water on, afraid that my last vision of the mortal world would be fuzzy reception on a bunny-ear TV and seventies wood paneling, just before being buried alive in an avalanche of rotting plaster. The roof was bright green and leaky. When Laverne moved out, she neglected to take her dogs fleas with her, so an infestation of sorts remained for a while. Eventually, the bathroom ceiling caved in, and the boyfriend of the roommate above called the county to eport the landlord as a slumlord. I regularly did not pay rent. I wrote letters to the landlord, where I cc'd anyone I knew who worked at a law firm, desparate to appear SERIOUS. Good times.

Then, the Wild Kingdom episode started.

Besides rats that maintained a vigilant army outside of the house, (due less to our pathetic rental and more to new construction. Arlington county thinks it's just fine to sell tiny little ranch homes to big new developers, knocking them down and building million-dollar siding'd monstrosities, and along with several other bazillion problems I have with this, those developers also tend to leave piles of scrap lumber and construction debris around for months. Which makes perfect little nests for nutria. Okay, maybe not nutria. LIONS!!!!! Okay, maybe not that either, but at least mice and rats. I wouldn't walk to my car at night without steel-toed boots and a broom. At least, as far as I know, they never got IN the house) there was a possum/raccoon of some sort in our chimney for some period of time, the fleas, of course, a steady ant problem down the back wall of the house, and, last but not least, the woodpecker.

The woodpecker in our fireplace. Which brings us back to the beginning.

The end, again.

(PS, again: Did you catch the part where I lived in a house with fleas? Yeah, just wanted to re-establish how fucking awful that was. Thanks.)

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

(Personal to K: The band who cover's Alphaville's "Forever Young" is named Youth Group. I'm sorry that at first I was confused as to what you were talking about, and thought you meant Rod Stewart. All good now.)

1. My Morning Jacket is next Monday, and Broken Social Scene on the 26th.

2. Did you know there is a bar in Baltimore named GRUMPY'S! This pleases me greatly. Everyone needs to join my party caravan northwards, we'll roll up in one big cloud of scowl.

3. Last week: the N looked someone's phone # up for work, and this persons name was very similar to an ex-girlfriend, who he then thought of, and started googling, and found, presumably happily living somewhere in the Commonwealth with her husband. (The next time you're down that way, N, it would be nice to stop by and say hi, out of the blue. If by "nice" I meant "Jarmuschian." I'm going out on a limb to say I don't think you have a son, though.)

Anyhoos, something kind of similar happened to me a few days later, but instead of googling the person, who- quite honestly, I don't really care about- I started googling his car.

1972 yellow Triumph Spitfire, "where you at?"-me. We have some catching up to do.

4. "to sexy long legs/my baby American Made:" It is the end of an era. I have battled young chickadees and their hormone-soaked cafeteria tacos, and I have lost. For the first time in my life, I have recently hemmed two pairs of pants. Lo those many years of searching through piles of jeans for the "L" mark, come to an end. Well played, Gap, well played. I salute you. Today, I am wearing a pair of your "long" pants, and the 36" inseam makes me look like a hobo pre-schooler.

5. VERY INACCURATE: My new favorite hobby is reading Coldplay reviews on Amazon and then trying to rewrite them as if they were instead reviews about my day. Dude, Coldplay got them some fucking fanatics. I did not know/care the depth of love for this band?

EXCELLENT, August 19, 2005 Reviewer: A music fan from U.K. AS A FAN OF COLDPLAY EVER SINCE THEIR 1ST 2 ALBUMS I FEEL THAT I MUST SEND A REVIEW IN AS THERE ARE SOME VERY INACCURATE REVIEWS OF THIS ALBUM ON AMAZON. SOME PEOPLE SEEM TO HAVE A VERY NEGATIVE VIEW OF THIS ALBUM AND HAVE PRE-JUDGED IT BASED ON THE SUCCESS OF ONE OF THE BIGGEST BANDS IN THE WORLD TODAY. I LIKE EVERY TRACK ON THE ALBUM ALTHOUGH SOME OF THE TRACKS DID TAKE A FEW LISTENS UNTIL YOU LIKE THEM. SPEED OF SOUND IS OBVIOUSLY A VERY STRONG TRACK BUT FIX YOU AND TALK NOT TO FORGET X AND Y AND SQUARE ONE ARE JUST AS GOOD 10/10 !!! STILL HIGH IN THE ALBUM CHARTS AS IT WILL BE FOR SOME TIME TO COME BUY IT AS IT IS ONE OF THE BEST ALBUMS OF RECENT YEARS.

(Was this review helpful to you? Rate it here, and don't forget to WRITE IN ALL CAPS WOOOOOOOOOO!!!! AND NO USING COMMAS!!!! COLDPLAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Monday, October 03, 2005

Our return from the dumb bar late Friday night was greeted with a very nice Alexandria police officer shining her flashlight into our basement window. Someones had burglarized two of our neighbors and made off with the a purse, wallet and an assortment of belt-worn electronics. The crooks tossed the purse in the bushes after relieving it of it's valuables and the cops were searching along the fence lines and bushes for any other scoundreled jetsam.

Since I was already out walking the dog, I offered his services in case they had some sort of clue he could sniff, hopefully a comically ripped pair of pants. She said they had their own K9 unit and wouldn't require our assistance. Turns out, though, the city's dog had the night off, and the mutt never showed. So they missed their chance on having my dog smell the purse, attempt to eat the tissues inside and then unproductively run off after a squirrel. (This is the second time recently where I've offered help to the municipal services only to be told to stand back and let the pros do their work. In all honesty though, I don't know what I could have done to help the fire department extinguish a huge flaming car, one that got so hot all the tires exploded. But, I felt so worthless standing there watching it burn that I somehow needed to justify my gawking.)

"No thanks. Just make sure to lock your doors," she said in her best McGruff voice.

But I have a theory. The transcript of my IM with the Governess...

Nabob: First, the bad guy had to know that doors would be unlocked. Also, L and P both own dogs who bark a whole bunch. So this desperado had to know the dogs in order to keep them quite. (Or have a bunch of hot dog links in his pocket.) So the miscreant had to know these girls. Last week, I heard L mention to P that some guy in the neighborhood was not getting her hints about wanting their relationship to be over. I think the guy was M, who we saw walking his dog last night. Notice how quick he was to bring up the robbery? That's called a guilty conscience. And how he said he saw other random people walking around recently? And how quick he was to blame outsiders? It's a classic head fake. it may have worked on the popo but not on me. I think he left a message on her cell phone he didn't want L to hear. So he broke into her house and stole the phone. Then he broke into L's house to make it appear like a crime wave. I'm calling the fuzz now.

Governess: You're an idiot. Please don't call the police.

N: I won't really. They can't see in the shades of grey that I do. Plus, I have less than zero evidence.

G: Next time you see the girls, try and figure out a non-creepy or accusatory way to approach it.

N: That’s a no-can-do. I'm doing this ham-fisted, like I do everything else.

G: Of course you will.

I'm actually proud of the G. for not calling me out on the references to being ham-fisted and someone having hot dogs in their pants.But she's super classy.

Oh, you clever little programmer bunnies, you. Listen Friendster, you might want to rethink. Everyone I know has already gone off in a total nerd panic and switched to anonymous viewing.

However, it was fleetingly hilarious to catch some guy from my junior high typing class or whatever, trying to discover what was currently up with the Governess. I see you, Matt! You cannot hide!

* * *

More later. I drank some/slept little this weekend. Also, I saw Serenity (Nathan Fillion looks just like a friend of ours, and said friend is the kind of guy who would be SO CONFUSED IF I COMPARED HIM TO A SCI-FI character his head might explode, so I'm going to have to refrain from calling Dave "Mal." It will be hard), and bought earrings from a crafty bastard participant after making my hungover friends WALK to Ad-Mo. And came up with some pretty funny ideas for teeshirts.

Anyhoos. I'm planning on doing nothing but slowly sinking into my couch the rest of the week, a rotting, heaping pile of wasted flesh, watching the talkie box. I am tired, you see.